Former Choices
Chapter Two
Author's Notes: Thanks for all the nice reviews, guys. I'm hoping to update this fic quicker than my others. *shameful grin* Thanks: Amber, my lovely and wonderful beta/friend.
He awoke the next morning to the smell of her hair. But when he opened his eyes and looked around, she wasn't there. The bedroom was quiet, calm, and full of light. The curtains had been opened, no doubt by Catherine herself on her way out. He groaned and flipped over to lie on his stomach, facing the door. "Catherine?" he called out, wanting to know where she was. No answer. He didn't hear any noises, so he got out of bed, got dressed, and went into the kitchen to eat some breakfast.
The entire house was spotless. Not a thing was out of place. She always cleaned when she was upset, he reminded himself, and looked once more at his surroundings. She must have been pretty damned upset. She had even cleaned out the refrigerator, he noted, when he opened it to get some fruit.
She must have stayed up pretty late, since he had gone to bed around eleven, and she hadn't done any cleaning before that. He rubbed a hand over his face, wanting to know where she was. He played with the handle of his coffee cup for a few seconds before picking up the phone and dialing her cell number.
"Hello."
"Hey," he said, and gulped. He was nervous for some reason. "It's me. Where are you?"
"Warrick, look at the clock." He did so.
"Oh. You're bringing Lindsey to school." He felt like smacking himself upside the head, but he just sighed. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot."
"You were sound asleep, and I wasn't, so I just... don't worry about it." Her voice was strained and thick. In the background he could hear the engine of her Tahoe and the beeping of a couple of horns, one of them probably hers. "I'll be home in about ten minutes," she told him.
"OK. Goodbye," he said, then quickly, "I love you."
But she had already hung up.
He was aware of the fact that somewhere in the past three years something between them had gone downhill. He was even more aware of it when she came walking through the door. She was wearing his sunglasses and the expression that she usually saved for suspects in cases.
"Hey," he said softly, almost nervously. She rose an eyebrow. Then she took off the sunglasses, folded them up, and put them in the breast pocket of his shirt.
"Sorry, the sun gets in my eyes when I'm driving and I couldn't find my own." She stared at him for a few seconds and then looked over to the counter. "Want some coffee?"
He pointed to the cup on the table. "I'm good." She nodded. "Cath..." he trailed off.
She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "What is it?"
"What happened? Between us, I mean..." He played with the ring on his finger and saw her hand tense around the handle of the coffee pot.
"What do you mean?" He knew she was pretending to be oblivious, that she knew exactly what he meant, but he repeated himself anyway.
"What happened? Catherine, when we were first married nothing could keep us apart. Nowadays... it feels like the last time we really talked was when all this stuff with my brother started coming out. And that was over six months ago." She looked down at the ground and shuffled her feet across the white linoleum.
"Then talk to me," she said suddenly, and looked up at him with sparks of anger in her eyes. "Talk to me, dammit! I try to get things out of you, I try to get you to come to me with stuff that's bothering you, but you close up. When you get hurt, you close up and you don't talk to anyone. You never used to be this way. But something about me changed you." She was breathing hard by the time she was done, and he stood to put a hand on each of her cheeks.
"It's not your fault." And he meant it, with every fibre of his being. "The way I behave is not your fault." He was about to explain himself when the phone rang shrilly in the corner of the room, breaking his attention span into pieces.
"There was a time when you would've let that ring," she reminded him, putting a hand on his waist, urging him not to answer it. He smiled, pulled her in for a hug, and let the machine get it.
"Hello Warrick, it's Vanessa." He stopped when he heard the sound of her voice on his answering machine. "You're obviously not home right now, but when you hear this message, could you drop by my house?" She gave an address. "It's about your brother's will."
With shaking hands he hugged his wife, kissed her goodbye, even, something he hadn't done in a while. He ignored her suggestion that she come along, told her it wasn't a good idea. Waving slightly at the door, he made his way to the car and was gone.
He arrived at the his brother's house no more than thirty minutes later. Turning off the engine, he gazed up at the four-story mansion that Jonathan had bought with his unlimited supply of money. His brother had been wealthy, there was no doubt about that, and Warrick was sure that almost none of that wealth would be bestowed upon him. The reading of the will would consist of Warrick getting a pat on the back and maybe an old lamp. He sighed and wondered at the things he did for family.
Vanessa met him at the door, her soft red blouse pressing tight against her skin, the tears in her eyes dry. She stepped back, letting him in, and her smile was more than fake, it was forced. He brushed past her into the foyer, allowing himself to be awed at the amazing possessions his brother had acquired over the years.
"I'm so glad you came, Warrick," she said. Much like the day before, he wanted to tell her that he never had any intention of not coming.
"How's everyone doing?" he asked, but his voice was less sympathetic than it had been yesterday. Overnight, he had been reminded of what she had done to him.
"We're doing well." She looked into his eyes and seemed to sense his confused feelings. Sympathy mixed with stale anger. She nodded.
"Why didn't Arianna come to the funeral?" he asked, but regretted it the moment he did. Tension washed over her face and she looked down at the ground, clearing her throat.
"She said she didn't feel the need," was her only reply. Warrick just nodded, not wanting to cause any trouble with Vanessa and her daughter, and asked her where he was supposed to go for this will-reading. "You're in a hurry," she stated.
He shrugged. "I've only got so many hours before my wife and I have to leave for work again. I'd like to spend all the time I can with her."
"Why didn't she come?" she asked, seemingly to mock his comment. He just frowned.
"She's busy," he said with indignation. "Where do I go for this will thing?"
She raised an eyebrow and turned to walk down the hallway. "Right this way."
Author's Notes: Thanks for all the nice reviews, guys. I'm hoping to update this fic quicker than my others. *shameful grin* Thanks: Amber, my lovely and wonderful beta/friend.
He awoke the next morning to the smell of her hair. But when he opened his eyes and looked around, she wasn't there. The bedroom was quiet, calm, and full of light. The curtains had been opened, no doubt by Catherine herself on her way out. He groaned and flipped over to lie on his stomach, facing the door. "Catherine?" he called out, wanting to know where she was. No answer. He didn't hear any noises, so he got out of bed, got dressed, and went into the kitchen to eat some breakfast.
The entire house was spotless. Not a thing was out of place. She always cleaned when she was upset, he reminded himself, and looked once more at his surroundings. She must have been pretty damned upset. She had even cleaned out the refrigerator, he noted, when he opened it to get some fruit.
She must have stayed up pretty late, since he had gone to bed around eleven, and she hadn't done any cleaning before that. He rubbed a hand over his face, wanting to know where she was. He played with the handle of his coffee cup for a few seconds before picking up the phone and dialing her cell number.
"Hello."
"Hey," he said, and gulped. He was nervous for some reason. "It's me. Where are you?"
"Warrick, look at the clock." He did so.
"Oh. You're bringing Lindsey to school." He felt like smacking himself upside the head, but he just sighed. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot."
"You were sound asleep, and I wasn't, so I just... don't worry about it." Her voice was strained and thick. In the background he could hear the engine of her Tahoe and the beeping of a couple of horns, one of them probably hers. "I'll be home in about ten minutes," she told him.
"OK. Goodbye," he said, then quickly, "I love you."
But she had already hung up.
He was aware of the fact that somewhere in the past three years something between them had gone downhill. He was even more aware of it when she came walking through the door. She was wearing his sunglasses and the expression that she usually saved for suspects in cases.
"Hey," he said softly, almost nervously. She rose an eyebrow. Then she took off the sunglasses, folded them up, and put them in the breast pocket of his shirt.
"Sorry, the sun gets in my eyes when I'm driving and I couldn't find my own." She stared at him for a few seconds and then looked over to the counter. "Want some coffee?"
He pointed to the cup on the table. "I'm good." She nodded. "Cath..." he trailed off.
She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "What is it?"
"What happened? Between us, I mean..." He played with the ring on his finger and saw her hand tense around the handle of the coffee pot.
"What do you mean?" He knew she was pretending to be oblivious, that she knew exactly what he meant, but he repeated himself anyway.
"What happened? Catherine, when we were first married nothing could keep us apart. Nowadays... it feels like the last time we really talked was when all this stuff with my brother started coming out. And that was over six months ago." She looked down at the ground and shuffled her feet across the white linoleum.
"Then talk to me," she said suddenly, and looked up at him with sparks of anger in her eyes. "Talk to me, dammit! I try to get things out of you, I try to get you to come to me with stuff that's bothering you, but you close up. When you get hurt, you close up and you don't talk to anyone. You never used to be this way. But something about me changed you." She was breathing hard by the time she was done, and he stood to put a hand on each of her cheeks.
"It's not your fault." And he meant it, with every fibre of his being. "The way I behave is not your fault." He was about to explain himself when the phone rang shrilly in the corner of the room, breaking his attention span into pieces.
"There was a time when you would've let that ring," she reminded him, putting a hand on his waist, urging him not to answer it. He smiled, pulled her in for a hug, and let the machine get it.
"Hello Warrick, it's Vanessa." He stopped when he heard the sound of her voice on his answering machine. "You're obviously not home right now, but when you hear this message, could you drop by my house?" She gave an address. "It's about your brother's will."
With shaking hands he hugged his wife, kissed her goodbye, even, something he hadn't done in a while. He ignored her suggestion that she come along, told her it wasn't a good idea. Waving slightly at the door, he made his way to the car and was gone.
He arrived at the his brother's house no more than thirty minutes later. Turning off the engine, he gazed up at the four-story mansion that Jonathan had bought with his unlimited supply of money. His brother had been wealthy, there was no doubt about that, and Warrick was sure that almost none of that wealth would be bestowed upon him. The reading of the will would consist of Warrick getting a pat on the back and maybe an old lamp. He sighed and wondered at the things he did for family.
Vanessa met him at the door, her soft red blouse pressing tight against her skin, the tears in her eyes dry. She stepped back, letting him in, and her smile was more than fake, it was forced. He brushed past her into the foyer, allowing himself to be awed at the amazing possessions his brother had acquired over the years.
"I'm so glad you came, Warrick," she said. Much like the day before, he wanted to tell her that he never had any intention of not coming.
"How's everyone doing?" he asked, but his voice was less sympathetic than it had been yesterday. Overnight, he had been reminded of what she had done to him.
"We're doing well." She looked into his eyes and seemed to sense his confused feelings. Sympathy mixed with stale anger. She nodded.
"Why didn't Arianna come to the funeral?" he asked, but regretted it the moment he did. Tension washed over her face and she looked down at the ground, clearing her throat.
"She said she didn't feel the need," was her only reply. Warrick just nodded, not wanting to cause any trouble with Vanessa and her daughter, and asked her where he was supposed to go for this will-reading. "You're in a hurry," she stated.
He shrugged. "I've only got so many hours before my wife and I have to leave for work again. I'd like to spend all the time I can with her."
"Why didn't she come?" she asked, seemingly to mock his comment. He just frowned.
"She's busy," he said with indignation. "Where do I go for this will thing?"
She raised an eyebrow and turned to walk down the hallway. "Right this way."